HATEU
by justwaittilligetthrough
Summary: Mercedes doesn't think that she can last another heartache over Sam Evans. But that doesn't mean Sam won't try to convince her otherwise.


She missed him so much it hurt.

She chose her dreams over her destiny, her ambitions over her soul mate. What she wanted over what she _needed._ Mercedes hated being sentimental, hated being alone in her thoughts. But that's what she was—alone. She's been alone ever since the breakup. She couldn't help but stupidly ponder the terminologies she was calling him in her thoughts, that were exponentially cheesy–but they described him best.

He understood when she broke the news to him–that she was giving up the burden of a relationship to follow her dreams. He took the news well—so well, in fact, that it bothered her. Why wasn't he fighting for her? Making a scene, saying he couldn't live without her? Why wasn't he voicing the words she wouldn't say? Did he not care about her at all? She thought he had cared—_damn, _she knows she was dying as she called it quits—didn't he? Why didn't he?

"_I've seen this coming for a while now. I know you can't deal with me, along with your career, so it's in your best interest to give this up. I understand."_

_She looked shocked at his resolution, but nodded anyway. "Uh—yeah, that's what I wanted."_

"_I'll see you around. Probably when you're on TV, promoting your new CD or something."_

"_Hopefully." She looked at Sam: He was still as calm as you please, and now, unfortunately, distant. _

"_Don't be a stranger the next time we meet, okay?" He got up from her couch—where they have done _multiple _things—and took out his keys to leave. Mercedes got up from the couch to give him a hug, but Sam halted her. _

"_Stop." He said, looking pained. "If you—I won't—I _can't _—it's not appropriate right now, okay?"_

_She nodded, a bit frustrated. "Okay."_

And that was it. He got in his truck and left her life forever.

It hasn't been forever really, only a few years, but it might as well have been. Mercedes has almost accomplished everything she's set out to: A Grammy (courtesy of being the best new artist that year), her first album almost going double platinum, and she singing in front of thousands.

That, actually, is what she was about to do right now—sing in front of practically a thousand. Mercedes was on her _Merciful _tour of the summer, and this was last show for the month. She was still a new artist, so she didn't have countless songs to sing, but she made the ticket prices to her concerts worth it.

She had ten minutes left in the interlude of her show, and now Mercedes was in a more risqué outfit—her hair was tousled in a sexy bed head look, she was wearing a long sleeved crop top and leather booty shorts. She stood on the platform of four inch glitter stilettos, and was primping in her dressing room mirror. Mercedes was dressed for her romantic songs—the songs that got the crowd swooning rather than staring with an awed expression. She had lost a little weight over the years, but only due to her constant drive to produce more material and music to her devoted fans. Not for any other reason.

A knock on her door stopped her movement to apply more lip gloss. She turned—her two feet long extensions moving with her, rather than weighing her head down. "Yes?"

"Mercedes, you're on in five." The tour manager reminded her.

"Thanks Joe." She looked back into her mirror and smacked her lips together. _Good enough, _she thought.

Mercedes walked out the door a few moments later, earning herself the shameless gape of her tour manager. She flirted with him on the regular, but only harmlessly. She didn't have any feelings for him, because unfortunately her emotions were still lingering in the past with _him. _

"Do I look good enough for the H.A.T.E.U number?" She asked innocently.

"Uh—yeah, you look great." He stuttered, ushering her to the pedestal meant to raise her onto the stage.

Mercedes looked at him. "That's not what I asked."

He coughed, issuing a laugh from her. And just because she was so sexually frustrated and felt like being a tease, she turned around and reached behind to fix her bra clasps, knowing that she was captivating him.

"Mercedes—"

She grabbed her microphone from a tour assistant and stepped on her pedestal—figuratively and literally—and greeted her awaiting audience.

"What's up Los Angeles, how're you feeling?"

The crowd was restless and overexcited—or maybe just the normal excited, Mercedes couldn't specify, she wasn't a professional yet, after all—but that was good, because she definitely needed the distraction.

She sashayed over to center stage and stood in front of the microphone stand. "So, how many of you out there have an unrequited love?" The audience gave an enthusiastic scream.

"Well then," Mercedes went on, like this was a normal conversation, "This song goes out to those who know how I feel right now. This song, while it's not my own, the lyrics can speak directly to my heart. I wasn't going to put this in the set list, but seeing as I want to be as honest as possible, I had to."

Her fans were simmering in excited anticipation. She nodded to the keyboardist, Jake. He nodded in reply and started the song's opening chords. Mercedes closed her eyes and hummed into the microphone, silencing the audience immediately.

_Once upon a time_

_We swore not to say goodbye_

_Something got ahold of us_

_And we changed…_

Mercedes sang, looking deep into the recesses of the audience.

_And then you sat alone in pride,_

_And I sat at home and cried_

_How'd our fairytale just end up this way?_

Which, if she was being completely honest, she had a good idea of how their relationship ended. It was her fault. She was the one to break it off, she was the one that called it quits and chickened out. She couldn't handle the thought of their relationship stretching beyond the breaking point and ending heartbreakingly so she severed it before that happened.

_We went round for round, till we knocked love out_

_We were laying in the ring not making a sound_

_And if that's a metaphor of you and I_

_Why is it so hard to say goodbye?_

The breakup was a resolution of sorts. Mercedes was tired of fighting with Sam, tired of explaining why she wasn't around when he wanted and why her career meant everything to her. She thought he already knew. She thought he was going to be supportive—and he was, at first. But people always change.

_I can't wait to hate you, make you, pain like I do_

_Still can't shake you off…_

_I can't wait to break through these emotional changes_

_Seems like such a loss cause…_

And it did—this complete wallowing in self-pity and not being able to love again B.S.—it seemed like a damned loss cause. She was Mercedes Jones! The Grammy award winning, platinum record selling, chart topping diva that was definitely independent and didn't need a man! But still—she was a woman. And women had needs. Hers haven't been met in almost _three years _because of him.

_I can't wait to face you, _

_Break you down so low there's no place left to go_

_I can't wait to hate you…_

She shook her head, caught in the midst of the song and her own anger. She wanted to hate him so bad, but she couldn't. It would make getting over him so much easier if she just accepted her feelings and moved on.

_No need to call my phone _

_Not like he would, _Mercedes thought bitterly.

'_Cause I changed my number today, _

_And matter of fact I think I'm moving away, away…_

_Sorry the frustration's got me feeling a way _

_And I just keep having one last thing to say…_

Mercedes swallowed a lump in her throat. This was blasphemy, how he was still able to affect her even after all this time.

_And I just wanna hold you_

_Touch you, feel you, be near you,_

_I miss you baby_

_I'm tired of trying to fake through—_

_But there's nothing I can do_

_Boy I can't wait to hate you…_

Sometimes she wondered—was it really all her fault? Was everything that went wrong between them, all her fault alone? Didn't he deserve to shoulder some of the blame for giving up so quickly and not being able to stick around? To pretend he cared, at least? To call her and congratulate her on her first Grammy—to be supportive and celebrate with her, like they planned so many years ago…

But no. Hell to the no, he couldn't mutter a peep in the height if her success. He didn't give a fuck for her accomplishments, nothing for her meeting her goals. It was like he lied. Like he was playing her from the start and was trying to ride it out as long as he could. She should've known in the end he would go and break her heart. It was more than sad—it should be enough for her to hate him. Yet and still, she couldn't.

Mercedes put her finger to her ear to close the noise around her and reached into the sixth octave—something she'd only done with Sam in private years before—and sung with her heartache in mind. She could hear the crowd clapping enthusiastically at her vocal ability. By the time she was at the outro to the song the audience threw common courtesy to the wind to exclaim their praises.

_I can't wait to H.A.T.E.U 'cause right now I need you_

_Can't wait to make you go… _

The remainder of the concert went great after that. And when she came out for the last song she didn't want to leave the stage. She walked around and waved and threw roses out into the crowd at her feet.

"I love you all so much!" Mercedes yelled, partially winded. "Thank you for being here and being such a great audience. I enjoyed you profusely. Thank you for believing in me from the start. I'll love you endlessly!" She blew a kiss to the fans and turned around to leave the stage.

* * *

After getting back in her dressing room, she changed immediately. People may think that when the concert was done, the artist could just chill. They were wrong; a performer's job is almost never over. She had dedicated fans that paid their way backstage for a pass to visit Mercedes Jones, and that's what they were going to get.

Different from other artists, she had the fans with backstage passes come one at a time in her dressing room, so she could have a chance to meet them at a more personal level. She wanted her fans to feel like guests, to know that she genuinely cared about them.

She changed out of her stage clothes and slipped into purple yoga pants and a purple suede jacket. She didn't have anything underneath the jacket on but her sports bra, but she didn't think it was a big deal. It's not like she was going to give her fans a peep show.

Mercedes was brushing her long hair out when the first fan knocked on her door. "Come in!"

The girl walked in nervously, almost not believing this was Mercedes Jones' dressing room. She couldn't've been older than 18. Her hair was dark brown and she was very thin, her body shape and height reminded her of Rachel Berry.

Mercedes got up from her dressing room chair and walked over to the girl to hug her. "Hey, I'm Mercedes! What's your name?"

"Marley." She replied, looking stunned and slightly awkward at the fact that _Mercedes Jones _just hugged her and acted like they were best friends.

"So," Mercedes said, leading them to a couch. "Tell me about yourself."

"Well, um, I love your music." Marley started, sitting down. Mercedes followed suit.

"Thank you." Mercedes said smiling, expressing her gratitude.

"I love music period, actually. And I love yours especially. The way you're able to write songs that fit moods perfectly, and your ability to capture emotion in each song—how do you do it?"

"Well, first, I have to say thank you so much for the compliments. Second, I love what I do. I love music. I'm in the studio almost 24/7, besides times like now, when I'm on tour. Third, you didn't tell me about _yourself. _This is about you, not me." Mercedes said with a smile, but her tone was stern. The visits with her fans were about the _fans _not her. They could ask questions, sure, but the point was not to talk about Mercedes Jones.

"Okay." So Marley told her about her passion for music, how she tested the waters of her range by singing Mercedes Jones original songs, about her family, and how she was in a glee club.

"Wait, you're in glee?" Mercedes interrupted.

"Yeah, um, why?" Marley asked.

Mercedes talked about her experience in glee club, and how she was constantly put on the back burner to her school rival. By the time she was done, Marley had a dumbfound look on her face.

"But you're _Mercedes Jones!_" She burst out.

Said diva laughed. "At the time I wasn't, _Mercedes Jones. _I was just MJ. Nobody special, at least not to my glee club director."

"That's insane." Marley said, amazed.

"Nah, not really."

"But you're—"

"Look, Marley." Mercedes stared her in the eyes. "There are periods in everyone's life where someone discourages another to not follow their dreams. Or better, they like you, but you're not good enough for them. Not everyone is going to like you, just like not everyone likes _Mercedes Jones_. But that doesn't bother me anymore. I have beautiful fans like you that believe in me, and that's more than I could ever need. As long as you have inner peace, no one can take that away from you."

Marley nodded. Not too long later after that she had to leave to give other fans a chance to meet and greet Mercedes Jones. Mercedes made sure to give her a hug and encouraged her to come backstage again if she could. Marley's eyes flashed at that but she said she'd try.

* * *

Mercedes went through the next fans as smoothly as Marley had come and went. They were all sweet and beautiful, as usual. The transgender Wade, known as Unique had to be one of her favorites. When he attacked her with ridicule over not having a man (or woman) she had to laugh. If only he knew.

She was brushing through her hair again when a knock rapped against her door. She thought she was done with the fans, but if there were more, so be it.

Mercedes ran her fingers through her hair and tried to make herself presentable. Unbeknownst to her—probably due to exhaustion—her jacket was almost unzipped completely, showing her cheetah print sports bra. She walked over to the door and opened it eagerly, a smile plastered on her face.

"Hey, I'm—" Once she saw who it was, she made a move to close the door.

"Wait a second!" He stuck his leg through, while getting it slammed in the process. "Dammit, Mercedes, stop!"

She shook her head, not believing her eyes. Sam? _Really? _"How dare you even say my name, who the hell let you backstage?"

"Well," He smirked, using his strength to push the door open so he could get in her dressing room. He could always overpower her easily. "I think this backstage pass was sufficient."

"Get out." She moved away from him, toward her vanity, ready to spray hairspray in his eyes.

Instead of doing just that, Sam turned around to close the door and lock it. "I think I deserve a chance to speak to _Mercedes Jones _the songbird. I paid my way fair and square."

"No." Mercedes said, obstinate. "Get out of my dressing room."

"Don't be like that." He said frowning. "I just want to talk."

She shook her head, but still sat down on her couch observing him. Age looked good on Sam Evans, just like Mercedes suspected it would. His hair was neatly groomed, and he was still deliciously muscled. Not like Mercedes cared. He was wearing a shirt with her initials on it, a black leather jacket, and dark wash jeans. Sam Evans still looked damn good, but she didn't care.

"Okay, talk." Mercedes conceded. Sam started to move toward the couch she was sitting on before stopping. She wasn't going to deny him, seeing how there wasn't another chair except her dressing room chair. And there was no way she was going to allow him to sit there and make her chair smell like him. As if knowing this, he sat there, like he knew she didn't want him to. She huffed.

"So, you were amazing tonight." He started.

"You expected less?" She interrupted.

"And you looked beautiful, and even _too good _at times, I almost couldn't handle it." He went on, like she didn't just have a diva moment.

"Well it's not like anything would've happened if you couldn't handle—"

"How do you know?" He said so seriously Mercedes felt her whole body squirm.

"I don't see why your girlfriend couldn't have assisted you in your personal problem." Mercedes ended, not even paying attention to what she was saying; Sam was staring at a spot on her jacket that made her wonder if she had a stain on it.

She looked down to where he was staring to see her exposed torso; her bra was showing, not to mention everything down to the waistband of her yoga pants.

"You perverted asshole." Mercedes said angrily, zipping up her jacket only to stop because her zip couldn't get past her bust.

"There's nothing wrong with staring, Mercy. And as it should've been obvious, I don't have a girlfriend." He explained, not even trying to hide his ogling.

"I told you to stop staring!" Mercedes exclaimed, her face flushed. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hide her endowments.

"No, you didn't. Not like I would stop even if you told me to." His voice dropped. "From what I remember, you never liked me to stop, did you? And what you're doing right now is making it worse. Or better, from my perspective."

Shock flashed in Mercedes eyes and she growled. "You _filthy—you evil—you dick—"_

Sam chuckled. "You sound angry, but is what I said not true? I pride myself in being honest, so excuse me, but I thought I was telling the truth."

"Get out, now." She stood up and walked to the door, ready to leave if he wouldn't. His eyes followed her.

"We're back to that now, are we? Now why, Mercy, do you want me to leave?" He smiled when she winced.

"I hate you." She clarified.

"That's a lie, baby. I think you explained yourself clearly in your rendition of H.A.T.E.U, correct?"

"Fuck you." Mercedes snapped, lost for anything else to say that might hurt him.

Sam smirked sinfully, and she wished she didn't say that. He stood up from her chair and moved toward her. "Tell me that was a promise and not a suggestion."

"Neither. Get out." Mercedes said again.

He grabbed her waist. She froze, her brain practically short circuiting. It had been _three years _after all. He was staring down at her, breathing heavily.

"You're so…_fuck._" Sam could think of no better word to describe her appearance. She looked up at him, wanting but not saying anything. He moved her back against a wall. All these years have passed, her dreams had come true, and yet she was the same Mercedes.

"Do you want me to leave, Mercy?" He asked genuinely. He was thumbing the waistband of her yoga pants, tempted to take them off.

Mercedes was breathing heavily, but gave no indication of a yes or no.

"The question can be answered simply, Mercy." He liked teasing her, he would never deny that. He ran his hand up her torso, careful not to do something that would distract him.

"Uh, um…" She looked pained. Mercedes bit her lip in thought. Sam always thought this was one of her sexiest traits.

"I have a proposition for you. Since you're incapable of a yes or no, I'll kiss you to find the answer. Sound fair?"

"What—"

He kissed Mercedes, hard. He couldn't help himself. Three years of wanting her, and seeing her so close, but far away from his touch. Nowadays he saw her on commercials prancing around in the skimpiest clothes, looking like a sex goddess reincarnate. She had always been a tease without realizing, and now she had to make that known nationally too. He kissed her even harder. She responded quite quickly, much faster than he imagined she would but he wasn't complaining. He was going to deepen the kiss until she pulled away, glaring at him.

"How dare you think you can just waltz in someone's dressing room and k—" Sam kissed her again before she started talking that bullshit again.

"Why'd you break up with me, for real?" He asked when he broke away for air.

"Why didn't you try to contact me when I won my first Grammy?" She retorted.

He squeezed her hips to remind her he was the one asking questions. But defiant as she always was, she just glared at him. He relented. "I'm not a _celebrity _Mercedes. How am I, a regular citizen, supposed to get in contact with the most famous woman of the year?"

Sam could tell she was mulling this over in her head. "But you didn't even _try._" She persisted.

He rolled his eyes. "How would you know if I tried or not unless I succeeded?"

She saw that he had a point.

Sam fingered her waistband, almost forgetting why they were talking when they could be doing other things… _Oh yeah, _"Why did you break up with me? Seriously Mercedes, why?"

"You didn't ask when I was doing it, so why ask now." Mercedes was being stubborn again.

"I'm trying to find a good reason why we're not together. Why I'm standing here asking this stupid question when I could be taking you on the co—"

"I broke up with you," Mercedes started, interrupting Sam in the process, "Because it was going to happen eventually anyway. You were getting tired of me not being around, and I was tired of disappointing you. It was for the best."

Sam thought that when Mercedes said stuff like that she really looked depressed. She only talked like that when she felt defeated. He remembered her acting like this whenever Mr. Schue would pick Rachel over her and she accepted it.

"Do you honestly believe it was for the best?" He asked.

"We're not together now, are we?" She responded rudely.

"Yeah, but why? What makes you think that we shouldn't be together, right now?" He was confused.

"Because it'll be just like last time. We'll be a happy couple, but only for a while, and then you'll get aggravated with my lack of appearance and I'll have to end it again." Didn't he understand that as long as her career lasted, they wouldn't be together?

"You didn't have to end it the first time." Sam argued, tightening his grip on her waist. She shook her head, looking anywhere but at Sam.

"But I did. You could barely stand me." Mercedes' eyes watered at remembering the way they acted toward each other.

"We could've got past that. You didn't even give us the chance."

Mercedes was crying already and she cursed herself for losing it so quickly. "We were done for. Like we are now. I can't go through this again, Sam. I can't keep getting hurt. First you left, and then you acted like you wish you could leave me, now you want to go for another round? I don't. A relationship can't work like this and I thought you would know that."

He stepped back from her, taken aback as if she slapped him in the face.

Mercedes took that opportunity to slip away from him. She picked up her phone and a small clutch purse. "I'm going back to the tour bus, Sam. And if you really want to talk about how this relationship can work, come find me. Joe will tell you my address. Good night."

* * *

**Guys, I don't even know what this is. A oneshot, a twoshot, I don't know. Just for any fans crossing over to read this, I am not abandoning SBD. This thing just poured from my fingertips. But please review and give critique. Thank you to whoever read this!**

*******I don't own song lyrics used*******


End file.
